Every day I get hundreds of emails from press officers babbling excitedly about band called the thingies, the can't-be-arseds, the hos, the hums, the blahs and the like, whatevers. This is the equivalent of tossing doves into the blades of one of those massive, rapidly whirring fans that Jack Bauer inevitably ends up staring at after he's crawled down a ventilation shaft in a terrorist bunker.

The doves are bands with dull names. The whirring blades are my inability to believe that a band incapable of making me laugh, wince, shout WTF or at least murmur "hmmm" on first acquaintance are likely to be capable of making pop music that makes me want to dance, copulate, riot or write an angry letter to the Daily Mail. Or even listen to their best track for more than five seconds.

And then - zing - along comes a band called the Muslims. Now I'm a freelance journalist. I'm a busy man. I've got zombies to kill, tanks to blow up, funny cats to point at, war comics to read, gutters to clean and, oh, all sorts of really important things. But there's no way I'm not going to spend 10 seconds checking out the MySpace page of a band with a name as spicily zeitgeisty as the Muslims.

I am not disappointed. The drummer has a receding hairline - always a good sign. The singer wears jumpers that are too small for him - again, an obvious signifier of massive latent talent. Their videos are cute exercises in postmodernist, existentialist deconstructionism (or "a bit like the Gang of Four"). And the music most definitely does not suck utterly. In an if-the-Strokes-read-more-books sorta way.

So I email a bunch of rock writers asking if a band have a name that's witty, pertinent, amusing or relevant enough, is that not a good enough reason to write about them even if they're really shit? And being rock writers — and thus honest, plodding, ponderous fools who fail to grasp even the moist basic tenets of show biz — they all say, gosh, no.

This is to ignore the fact that in the 90s a band that sounded like a watered-down version of every hyper-generic schmindie group you've ever loved not only got my attention but actually got written about. Because they were called Machine Gun Feedback. How could I not write about how a crap band called Machine Gun Feedback should have their name forcibly taken off them and given to a band that actually sound like machine gun feedback?

Alas this argument is lost on most of my colleagues who, almost to a man, think of themselves as guardians at the gate of a hallowed art form rather than what they are — dung beetles (actually dung beetles in tuxedos working as bouncers at the door of culture's seediest but most exciting disco) without whom the world would be knee deep in shit music (and yes, I know - someone isn't doing their job).

Still, at least one of this band of half-blind, cloth-eared, know-nothing hacks does steer me in the direction of a band called the Homosexuals. Now a band called the Homosexual Muslims would be an over-egged pudding. But how could anyone resist a Homosexuals/Muslims double bill?

"I stayed in and watched Mad Men last night."

"Did you? I saw the Homosexuals and the Muslims. And thus entered history."

Alas it will never be. For news has just arrived – midway through writing this very blog – that the Muslims have changed their name to ... the Soft Pack. Why? In the name of God, why?

Because, say the band, "It's a new chapter in our lives and hopefully yours."

Oh please. You had a super-sexy name that was challenging and daring and naughty and funny and inappropriate and controversial and interesting and confrontational and hyper relevant — and you bottled it. Now you might as well be called Rehearsal Space. Or Studio Door. Or the First Really Safe Thing We Could Think Of. Or Snow Patrol. You have disgraced yourselves.

No one is going to remember a band called the Soft Pack. You have effectively just written yourselves out of history. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Apologise now while there's still time and then change your name back or never get written about by me again.